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by thatmitchsentho
Summary: Quintana. Alternate events in actual timeline, plus futurefic. A story of how they came to be.


Santana sometimes wondered how they managed to make it to twenty one without falling in love. She still remembers the first day she saw her, the first time they spoke, and the first time they fought. It took six years to navigate a path from strangers to competition to friends to best friends to enemies to friends to enemies to friends and back to strangers. But the sixth year brought them from strangers to some place else that might have been friends but turned into something more, and eventually into lovers. Six years. But worth the wait.

Six Years Ago: 

The first day of cheerleader tryouts was the third day of freshman year. Santana knew she'd be a Cheerio, it was destined. Her legacy. Lima Heights Middle had never seen a head cheerleader like Santana Lopez. And she'd met Coach Sue twice and lived to tell the tale. Sure, Coach Sue was crazy, everyone knew that. But her crazy produced results, and that was what the Lopez name was about. Santana needed results, because she had five brothers, all older, all super smart and super traditional. So she needed to be super in every way. Superior.

The first time Santana saw her, she was sitting in the bleachers with an older girl, wearing a smug little smile that suggested her place on this squad was already confirmed. Santana was sitting with Brittany, who had said she was more of a dancer, but needed the extracurricular to make up credits for her grades. Brittany was nice, said funny things, and was the first girl who talked to her, so naturally they were going to be best friends forever.

"All right aspirational meat sacks," Coach said, "Line up. Freshmen in the front row, so I can pretend I'm taking notice of your names. My head cheerleader Sandy will demonstrate a short Cheerios classic, and repeat it once only. If you miss a step, mumble a word, or that pretty orthodontic smile falters for a heartbeat, you walk away." Santana was confident, she'd been studying Cheerios clips on YouTube for months, and had all their routines memorised. She could out-yell fifteen angry Latin-folk on Superbowl Sunday, so she had it in the bag. She lined up next to Brittany and a dark haired girl who looked like she was going to puke out of sheer nerves.

"If you puke and I slip over in it," Santana said to her, "I'll cut you." The blonde in the bleachers was on the other side of the puking princess, and she leaned over.

"What she said," the girl said. "You ruin this for me, I ruin you." Santana raised an eyebrow at Brittany. Bleacher girl was blonde, prim and looked as if she could keep a beer cold in the middle of the Arizona desert, but she talked hard. Santana turned her attention to the redhead at the front.

After the routine was done, Coach Sue counted them in. Santana knew she nailed it, and Brittany for her complete lack of attention or awareness about anything managed to follow the choreography perfectly. Coach Sue stood with the head cheerleader and began crossing names off the list. A lot of names. Almost all of them.

"Sweaty teens," Coach said, "If I call your name, you made the cut. Be warned, there are only seven new names on this list. Your position is non-negotiable, and I will not take you aside and tell you how you can improve and make the squad next year. Cheerios are champions. Three national titles in a row, so I need the superstars, not the teen queens. Senior year: no new names. Junior year: Evelyn Kaling and Megan Levinson. Sophomore year: Grace Martindale and Sarah Stevenson. Freshman year: Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce. Tryouts over. Practice tomorrow at seven am."

Santana and Brittany squealed and hugged each other. Bleacher girl was also smiling, so Santana presumed that her name was Quinn Fabray.

"Congratulations," Brittany said to her. "I'm sure it'll be awesome."

"If you last that long," Quinn said coolly, and returned to the bleachers where her friend hugged her.

"Bitch," Santana said. "Want me to take her out?"

"Nope," Brittany said. "As if I care about what she thinks. Me and you, we're gonna rule this place." And they linked arms and strode out of the gym.

Five Years, Ten Months Ago:

Being a Cheerio was incredible. Within a week of putting on the uniform and pulling back the hair, Santana and Brittany became the most popular girls in the grade. Quinn too, but she was so prim and perfect everyone avoided her. But Santana and Brittany could barely turn around without being approached by some jock who had something to say about the new Cheerios.

It was kinda fun, Santana guessed, but they were all so gross, she didn't did though, and she kissed a string of boys that pretty much made her a legend not only in Lima, but Dalton, Westville, Briar and Chester bothered Santana a little. Not that people were talking about Britt, she was fierce and everyone loved her, but that she was so okay with just hooking up with everybody.

"It's not bad," Brittany said. "Do you know how many girls would kill to be us? Would kill to have the boys chasing them? It's not like I'm marrying them, or sleeping with them. A kiss is just a kiss. See?" And she pulled Santana in and frenched her. "Nothing to it." She sauntered down the hall, and Quinn spoke from behind her.

"What are you, lesbians or just sluts?"

"Better than being a celibate prude," Santana said quickly. "Relax a little. You know, girls just wanna have fun. Unless they have giant poles stuck up their asses like you." She almost walked away, but turned back at the last minute. "And I hear you talk about Britt like that again and I swear to God I'll shove that shiny crucifix necklace down your throat til you choke on it."

She flounced down the hall, well aware that at least four people just heard her ream out Quinn Fabray. It only took two periods for people to start calling her Head Bitch In Charge. In two days, she was completely invested in the role, perfecting the art of cutting insults and comebacks. Some people just called her a bitch, but anyone that mattered called her awesome. And Quinn Fabray left her the hell alone.

Five Years, Six Months Ago: 

"Is she trying to kill us?" Brittany asked. "I mean, legitimately kill us?" They were all streaming into the lockers after a four hour practice in which most of them had strained, bruised, and in Grace Martindale's case, broken something.

"Maybe," Santana said. "My arms and shoulders are killing me." Quinn limped past. She'd been tossed by two of the seniors, and one of them had been half a second late with the catch, and she'd landed pretty badly on her knee. To her credit, she managed to tough out the last hour, but she was clearly hurting. Santana half watched as Quinn undressed and stepped under the stream of hot water, massaging her knee. Then Quinn looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you all right?" Santana asked casually. "That looks pretty bad."

"It hurts like a bitch," Quinn admitted. "I think I tore something."

"Do you need a doctor?" Brittany asked.

"My parents won't be home til late," Quinn said. "I've gotta go home."

"You're not walking on that," Santana said. "Look, my dad's a doctor. And my brother is picking me up. Do you want to maybe come see my dad? I'll get Alej to drop you off after."

"I thought we weren't friends," Quinn said uncertainly.

"I've got this feeling that if we don't stick together, we might die," Santana said melodramatically.

"I think she's right," Brittany said. She pointed to her own leg where a bruise the size of Texas was taking form on her thigh.

"That would be nice," Quinn said. "Thanks." Santana waited patiently for Quinn to dress and helped her out to the car where Alej was waiting.

"Al, this is Quinn, she hurt her knee at practice. Can we go see dad? Her folks aren't home and I don't want her walking around if she's busted an ACL or something."

"Of course," Alej said. "Hello Quinn."

"Hi," she said shyly. "Thanks for this."

"De nada," he said. He drove them to Dr Lopez's office, and helped Quinn inside. Then he excused himself so he could grab some coffee. Santana and Quinn sat in one of the x-ray suites, away from the other patients.

"Your brother was really nice," Quinn said. "Just you two?"

"I wish," Santana said. "I have five brothers, and I'm the youngest. After me it goes Alej, Marcos, Christian, Darius and Alonso."

"Wow," Quinn said. "That must be hard."

"What about you?"

"Only child," Quinn said. "I'd kill for a sister. But my mom isn't willing, and my dad's never home."

"Well, you can borrow me any time you like," Santana said. "I'm sure I'd appreciate the quiet of one other sibling." A quick visit and some crutches later, and Santana couldn't believe how fast she and Quinn had become friends. Her father had invited Quinn to dinner that night since her parents weren't home, although he also wanted to see how her knee held up. Santana sat across the table from her friend and laughed and joked with her brothers, making sure Quinn was involved. She wasn't as bad as Santana had thought, and she was glad they moved from enemies to friends without making a scene.

Five Years Ago:

Santana saw Quinn leaning against the locker with her new boyfriend Finn. She narrowed her eyes. Finn wasn't unlikeable, he was cute in a kind of goofy way, and on the football team. But ever since Quinn and Finn and started dating, she'd barely spoken to her or Brittany. They had a reputation to uphold. People had started calling them the Unholy Trinity, which they secretly loved. It made Santana feel like they were untouchable.

"Missed you last night," she said as she strolled past. "Though, we might be forgetting what you look like. Give it time."

"What?" Quinn said. "What's up your ass?"

"Oh nothing," Santana replied. "Just never figured you'd be the girl who ditches her friends for a boy. I mean, Britt and I still hang out despite having liaisons of our own, but if we're crowding Finn time, we could always find someone else to take your place."

"Screw you," Quinn said. "You're just jealous. That I have someone to kiss me and you don't." Finn just looked scared, and avoided the glare that Santana threw.

"If I wanted someone, I could make it happen in an instant," Santana said. "But my friends are more important."

"Keep dreaming," Quinn replied. Santana raised her eyebrows. She stuck out her arm, and grabbed a hold of the nearest letterman's jacket, pulling it toward her.

"Hi," she said. She vaguely remembered the mohawked boy from a party. "Puck, right?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Wanna make out, Puck?" she asked. Puck immediately leaned in. Santana kissed him hard. He was eager, but she instantly felt bad about messing things up with Quinn. She pushed the groping boy away, but Quinn was already gone, halfway down the hall with her boyfriend.

"Same time, same place, tomorrow," she said. "Run along." He left obediently, and Santana leaned against the lockers and frowned. She couldn't figure out why seeing Finn's arm around Quinn's shoulder bothered her so much, but it did.

Three Years, Ten Months Ago.

Santana was sitting cross-legged on the bench in the girls locker room, crying her guts out. Quinn pushed the door open and called her name softly. Santana didn't respond, but her cries were enough for Quinn to come looking for her.

"Jeez, Santana, why didn't you just tell me?" Quinn said. "Finn's an ass for doing that to you, but you could have told me."

"Like you don't have enough issues of your own at the moment," Santana said. "I don't know, Quinn, I just don't know how I could possibly say it out loud and have it be anything but completely terrifying. It's just…" Quinn sunk down next to her.

"It's just you, Santana. You're still you." She pushed the hair out of Santana's face.

"My parents, Quinn. They don't know yet, but some asshole is going to plaster my face all over the television and make me the poster girl for teenage gay. That's going to kill Abuela and Dad."

"You don't know that," Quinn said. "I think some people say one thing until it happens to them. But I'm not going to like, make you tell them. But you need to decide if this is something they should hear in an ad, or from you."

"I have to tell them, obviously," Santana said. "And Coach Sue says they're going public with the ad tonight."

"Why do you even like Sue so much?" Quinn asked. "She's crazy and she kicked you off the team when you got your boobs done."

"You know," Santana said, "She might be crazy, but she's the most honest person I ever met. Know why she kicked me off the squad? Because she said that I was failing as a role model, because her Cheerios are self-confident and until I was secure in myself I wasn't allowed to come back. And she came to me as soon as she heard about the ad. She was incensed, literally furious, that it happened. But she also said that she doesn't care if I'm gay, because it has nothing to do with my ability to cheer. Or be a leader to the other girls."

"I have the feeling there's a side to Sue we don't know about," Quinn said. "Like, remember when she resigned as principal when Karofsky came back?"

"I'm telling you, she's crazy, but she's straight up crazy."

"Do you want me to come with you to tell your folks?"

"No," Santana said. "But do me a favour and keep your phone on?"

"Of course."

Three Years, Six Months Ago.

Santana was sitting at her desk, avoiding her civics homework. She could hear the sounds of her family talking downstairs. She wondered what they talked about these days. She didn't know because, for all intents and purposes, they didn't talk to her. Her phone rang. She didn't recognise the number, but she was curious and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello Santana? This is Judy Fabray." She sounded distant and upset.

"Uh, hi." Santana was more than a little surprised.

"Sweetie, I know it's late, but any chance you can come to the hospital? Quinn - she… I mean, she didn't, but she tried-"

"What? Is she okay?" She was suddenly alert, and worried.

"She's not awake yet," the unsteady voice came. "She tried to hurt herself. Painkillers, I think." Santana was silent for a moment.

"I'll be right there," she said stiffly. She threw a jacket on and headed downstairs."I'll be back," she said to her parents.

"Where are you going this late at night?" Her mother asked. Her eyes flashed with distrust. "To see a girl?"

"Technically yes. Quinn's mom called," Santana said, rolling her eyes. "Quinn tried to kill herself. So unless there's some lecture you need to give me about the sins of caring for my suicidal friend, I'll be back later." She stormed out the door, and drove to the hospital without thinking. Quinn's mother was sitting dejectedly in a chair.

"Mrs F," she said. "How is she?"

"Apparently she'll be fine," came her response, "But until she wakes up I don't believe it. Did you see this coming? Is there something I could have seen and didn't?"

"I didn't know," Santana said. "I knew she was having a rough time, she talked about Beth and her dad sometimes. But I didn't realise it was this bad."

"I have to call her father," Mrs Fabray said. "When the doctor comes back out. Will you stay with her? I had no-one else I could think of that she'd want to see right now, I don't want her to wake up alone while I'm doing all the paperwork and waiting..."

"Sure," she said. The doctor came out and spoke with Mrs Fabray. She must have said something about Santana, because he held the door open for her. Quinn was laying in the dimly lit bed, tubes attached to her arm. She was frowning a little in her sleep, like her demons were still tormenting her. Santana had never been so scared in her life, and she didn't try to still the tears that escaped her eyes. She sat in the plastic torture device the hospital called a chair, and took Quinn's hand.

"Oh, Q," she whispered to Quinn's lifeless form, "We're both all kinds of messed up, aren't we?"

Three Years Ago.

"So, Santana Lopez," Quinn said, tossing her mortarboard aside. "What are you going to do tomorrow, now that we're free?"

"First thing tomorrow I'm loading up my car and driving to Chicago," Santana said.

"Road trip?"

"Relocation," she said. "I'm getting the hell out of Lima, never looking back."

"What about your friends and family?"

"Please," Santana said, tossing her own cap into her trash can. "My family haven't spoken to me since I told them I was gay, except to tell me I was going to hell for my sins, and every so called friend I have here, never gave a rats ass."

"I did," Quinn said. "I mean, I was having my own meltdown." She was referring to her suicide attempt and diagnosis with depression.

"You're the only one," Santana said. "Well, Q,f eel free to join me and we'll blow Lima away Thelma and Louise style, but so far as I can see, there's nothing for me here." Quinn just stared at her. Santana shrugged. "I got a little money, my car and myself."

"But what are you going to do for a job, or school, or a house?"

"Play it by ear," Santana replied. "I figure I can get a job waitressing, singing Coyote Ugly style, whatever. I'll be fine."

"Are. You. Serious?"

"Hell yeah I am," Santana said. "Can you come up with some super compelling reason for me to stay? Because I just don't see it." Quinn just wordlessly grabbed her bag and left, slamming the door to Santana's room, and then to her house. Santana just stared at the neat handwriting inside Quinn's cap: Q. Fabray. Then she pulled out her Cheerios bag and started stuffing things inside.

Twelve Months Ago.

Santana bumped the door open with her hip, one hand holding a cell phone to her ear, the other holding a bag of groceries. She keyed the pin to open the interior door with her thumb, and almost dropped the bag altogether when she heard a voice.

"Santana," came the voice. Unmistakeable. Quinn. She hung up the phone.

"Quinn Fabray," Santana said. "What in gods name are you doing here?"

"Nothing in particular," she replied. "I took a semester off school and decided to see some of the country. And I remembered you were here."

"Chang gave you my address," Santana deduced. Mike was the only person who knew where she lived, because he'd run into her when he toured with some dance company. Luck had them in the same coffee place at the same time, and he'd seemed genuinely happy to see her.

"Possibly," Quinn replied. "I let Tina know I was coming through, and she said she could find out where you were."

"And here I am," Santana said. "And so are you. You should come up." Quinn followed Santana through the security door, nodding to the gentleman who was sitting at a dark counter. They got in the elevator and rode a few floors up, until Santana wordlessly let her in the door to her was far nicer than Quinn had expected.

"Chicago likes you," she said, running a hand over the back of the couch.

"I was lucky," Santana replied. "Landed in a motel, picked up a job waitressing at a coffeehouse. One night I was mopping up before I left, singing along to the radio, some guy comes in and offers me a spot on open mic night. I started singing there, and now I host at his club." She sat on the couch and gestured for Quinn to do the same.

"Despite being barely old enough to drink at one," Quinn said.

"I haven't touched alcohol since junior year," Santana said. "Dom pays me well, I'm comfortable, happy even."

"I'm glad," Quinn said, sincerely.

"But you seem less so," Santana said. "North Carolina not so much fun? What are you studying?"

"Nursing," Quinn said. "I like the course, and I thought I was after a clean slate, and it just doesn't feel right. I started to get a bit down a few months ago, and my therapist suggested I take a few months off to re-evaluate."

"Still seeing your therapist?"

"Intermittent phone calls," Quinn said. "Still being neglected by your family?"

"Sure am," Santana said.

"How did the two hottest girls at McKinley turn out to be the biggest nutcases?" Quinn mused. "Anyway, that's how I got here."

"You should stay here," Santana said. "As long as you'll be here in town. It'll be fun."

Ten Months Ago

"Q?" Santana said. They were sitting on the couch watching Real Housewives of Somewhere or other. "Can I ask a question?"

"Sure," Quinn replied.

"How long are you planning on staying?" Santana asked. "Not that I don't like having you here, it's like old times for me."

"Can we take a walk?" Quinn said. Santana was well aware that this was her way of avoiding conversations, but she agreed, and they pulled on light jackets and strolled toward the river. When they reached the middle of the bridge, Quinn stopped and looked out over the water.

"I want to tell you something," she said. "But I want you to wait until I'm done."

"That's never a good prelude, but go ahead."

"The day we graduated," Quinn said. "Do you remember it? I do. I asked you what you planned on doing, and you said driving away to Chicago and leaving Lima behind. And then you said there was nothing in Lima for you any more. I was so angry at you."

"Angry?"

"You said I could come with you, and I was so close to doing that, packing up my life. But more angry that of everything in Lima, you couldn't come up with one reason to stay." She looked back to Santana. "That I wasn't enough of a reason for you to stay."

"Oh," Santana said.

"And I was mad at you for over a year," Quinn continued. "And then I missed you. And wondered if you ever thought of all the things you left behind when you drove out of Lima."

"Honestly," Santana said, "I don't think of all the things I left behing. There's only one thing I left in Lima that I wished I hadn't, and now you're here. I thought you'd remind me too much of home when I saw you, and you do, but not in the way you think. You don't remind me of home the place, but home the feeling. Like the way the back of our legs felt roasting on the hood of your car when we sat at the quarry for hours and talked. Like that brain freeze you get chugging a Slushee from Jans the Slushee guy who had a crush on you. Like the way it felt laying on our backs in the grass with nothing but the sky and stars above us."

"So now I know," Quinn said, "That you didn't forget me when you forgot Lima."

"I can't forget you," Santana said. She took Quinn's hand. "I think you've always been a part of me." Quinn stood on her toes and kissed her, feeling her lips part. They pulled away and Quinn smiled.

"I think I'll hang around for a while."

Four Months Ago.

"Do you ever wonder if we missed out on years?" Quinn asked Santana. Santana was reading Rolling Stone while Quinn read a medical text, her legs kicked over the Latina's lap.

"No," Santana said, putting her magazine down. "We would never have worked back then. The both of us were complete train wrecks, anything we had a hand in together could only have been spectacularly devastating. Neither of us would have bounced back from that."

"You might be right," Quinn said. "Maybe we needed time and space between us."

"But not now," Santana said. "Not any more."

It hadn't taken long for Quinn and Santana to realise that this thing was probably for real, for Quinn to call her mom and tell her she was moving to Chicago. Her mom had been slightly surprised at the reason, but called Santana later to say, "I'm glad you two managed to find your way back." They had made one whirlwind trip to Duke so Quinn could transfer to Rush and move all her things, her entire life could fit in the back of a rented SUV.

But her things fit perfectly in the space in Santana's life - her clothes in the wardrobe, her new study nook filled an empty corner of the living area Santana had no idea what to do with before. Photos appeared on walls, and small things like cushions on the couch with polka dots, and an espresso machine in the corner of the small kitchen. Quinn bit the end of her pencil and went back to reading her textbook. Santana watched her, thinking that since Quinn appeared announced in her life, for the first time in a long time, she felt like everything was right. Things were the way they were supposed to be. And that she was home.


End file.
